


Unnatural Men

by lunalius



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Anti-Capitalism, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Assassins & Hitmen, Corruption, Cyborgs, Found Family, Gun Violence, I quit science when I was 15 spare me, Inaccurate and/or misleading representations of evolution, Inaccurate and/or misleading representations of hacking, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Character Death, Rating May Change, Rly minor tho!, Slow Build, Superpowers, Vigilantism, Violence MAY turn graphic and warnings will be changed, Warnings May Change, be gay do crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22083556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunalius/pseuds/lunalius
Summary: Taeyong wasn’t born yesterday. He is, as far as he can remember, a graduate student, and in bio engineering too. These diagrams and figures are a little more complex than he’s used to, but he can figure them out. He’s also already noticed the wires and cables coming out of various points in his arms and body, and how strange his touch receptors feel from the neck down. “You’ve turned me into a cyborg.”--Taeyong has a second chance at life, and he's determined to do something good with it.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 33
Kudos: 66





	Unnatural Men

**Author's Note:**

> Here she is, my baby! I've been working on her for over a year now! My term is over and now I'm ready for an extended labour!
> 
> This work is entirely fictional. Some characters in this may not feel as much like the people you know and love. Every single character in this fic is a little bit flawed.
> 
> I have no update schedule as it is, so I make no promises. There will be times when I update a lot, and times when breaks between chapters are long. I'll do my best!
> 
> There will be gun violence up ahead and in future chapters! Please be warned! I cannot guarantee the violence will stay mild as the story goes, but I will try not to make it too graphic. Everything will be appropriately warned.

_“Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men — machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate — the unloved and the unnatural!”_

\- ‘The Great Dictator’ (1940)

— 1 —

Taeyong hears before he can do anything else, although he barely registers that he can do it.

It’s a persistent, steady beeping. A bit like a hospital but not quite — there was something off about the sound. He doesn’t remember the last time he was in a hospital. If he’s in one now, he doesn’t know how he got here.

He drifts back to sleep again.

(There’s a dull pain at the back of his head, but nowhere else.)

When Taeyong comes to again, he’s well and truly conscious. He is wide awake and he can suddenly see everything at once. His vision looks like an interface — a literal computer interface — on top of being able to see much, much better than he was used to. But unlike a computer, he can’t process it — he has no means, no way of putting it all together. All he’s experiencing is stark white and clicks and beeps and a sudden searing heat in his chest.

There are murmurs, voices, that he can decipher if he concentrates. “Bring the ice pack.”

“Is he waterproof yet?”

“Should be, but he won’t be hard to fix up if he short circuits.”

Taeyong blacks out before he can feel any kind of relief.

(His head hurts too, he noticed. His head and his neck, but he can’t feel anything below it.)

Taeyong wakes up a third time the same way he did the second, but things are clearer now.

He’s in what seems like a hospital, all white tiles and metal desks aluminium desks and ghostly green-ish lighting. There are people in white lab coats staring at him, eyes as wide as his must be. He recognises every single one of their faces, even though he’s never met any of them before. He can see their body heat, like thermal vision. He can actually see them in thermal vision.

He’s standing. On closer inspection, it’s forced — he’s attached to something, and it’s something big. There are wires coming out of his arms, his legs, whole _wires_ coming out of every end of his body —

“Hello.”

The voice is pleasing to his ears. Warm. He identifies the woman immediately as [CLASSIFIED].

“Try saying something. Say hello back.”

“Hello,” Taeyong croaks back. It feels guttural and raw. His throat feels very different to his eyes.

“Ah, your vocal cords haven’t been used in a long time. You may have some difficulty.”

“Perhaps we could install a brain-to-voice function,” another scientist butts in. Taeyong identifies him, too, as [CLASSIFIED]. “It would sound unnatural, but at least we can guarantee function.”

“No, I think his real voice is enough.” [CLASSIFIED]’s smile feels like the warm hugs his mother used to give him after he scraped his knee. He isn’t sure why he suddenly remembered that. “He just needs time. Check his vital signs.”

Another [CLASSIFIED] pulls up a fibreglass tablet and taps at some backwards graphs that Taeyong wants to decipher, but he is distracted by [CLASSIFIED] #1. “You must be very confused.”

“I am,” Taeyong whispers, voice hoarse. “Uh, can I get something to drink?”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 nods and [CLASSIFIED] #2 barks some orders around. “Get the subject an energy drink. Warm. Don’t look at me like that, it’s for his throat.”

“His vital signs are perfect. His fan’s working overtime, but—”

“I know those are functioning fine,” [CLASSIFIED] #1 sighs, “I’m talking about his organs.”

“Oh! Um, yes. All clear.”

“Hippocampus?”

“Active.”

“Wonderful.”

Another scientist returns with a glass mug of something warm and orange and Taeyong gulps it all down at once. The cup’s out of his hands as soon as he’s done and the scientist is gone before he can register his name (probably also [CLASSIFIED]).

“Do you know who you are?” [CLASSIFIED] #1 asks him. Taeyong likes her, he decides. She’s always smiling at him in a way that makes him feel safe, and for whatever reason it doesn’t bring up his fight or flight response.

“I do,” Taeyong replies, and he finds his throat feels only slightly smoother than before. “I’m Taeyong Lee. I have a lot of questions.”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 bites her lip like she’s keeping some happy secret. “You may ask me anything, but I can’t guarantee I can answer.”

“That’s cool. Am I dreaming?”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 chuckles, light and airy. “You’re not dreaming, no.”

“Okay. Why am I in hospital?”

“This isn’t a hospital. This is a lab.”

She looks like she’s definitely about to continue but the scientist from before jumps right in front of his vision, like he’s the only thing Taeyong can see, with another cup of energy drink. Taeyong is grateful, but he wants answers.

“What kind of lab?”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 purses her lips. “I’d like to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

What is the last thing he remembers? Taeyong thinks hard and remembers an autumn day, his favourite kind that was cold enough to wear a cute cardigan, but not so cold that he’d have to rug himself up. He remembers eating a strawberry shortcake and he remembers holding someone’s hand and feeling invincible. Whose hand was he holding? Why can’t he remember?

Why does it feel like it happened so long ago?

“Shut him down,” a voice snaps, pulling him out of his memories. Taeyong realises there’s a searing pain in his neck, and something is wrong with his chest. He touches it and it’s frighteningly hot. “Shut him down!”

(He feels a sudden wave of tiredness. His vision swims and there’s a darkness that’s wrapping around him like a blanket. He’s inclined to give into it.)

Taeyong is tired of coming in and out of consciousness. He’s suddenly faced with a memory of when he was very young and at the dentist’s office, getting his teeth filled and capped because of all the cavities, and being drugged up beyond sobriety because he hated the pain. He didn’t like that feeling either.

When he can focus, he realises [CLASSIFIED] #1 is no longer in the room. “Good morning?”

“Good afternoon,” [CLASSIFIED] #2 greets him. All of the scientists stare at him warily, eyes flickering between their tablets and him. “Have you slept well?”

[CLASSIFIED] #2’s voice is also smooth, just like [CLASSIFIED] #1, but something about it puts Taeyong on edge. “Yes. I suspect I don’t think I had a choice.”

[CLASSIFIED] #2’s eyes narrow. “I think it’s time I explained to you exactly what it is you’re doing here.”

“I think it’s time you did.”

“Hm. I’ve been asked to address you as Taeyong, even if I would prefer otherwise.” He crosses his arms. “Taeyong, do you know what the Augmented Peace Officer Research Program is?”

“Uh.” Taeyong racks his brain for something of the sort and pulls up nothing. “No?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” The computer interface that seems to have not left Taeyong’s line of vision — making him think this probably isn’t a hallucination — pulls up a diagram of a human body, except it’s like a blueprint. It’s supposed to be a cross section, but the only major organ he can see is the brain. Everything else is metal and silicone and computer chips. “This is an Augmented Peace Officer. The government is creating them for our police force.”

Taeyong wasn’t born yesterday. He is, as far as he can remember, a graduate student, and in bio engineering too. These diagrams and figures are a little more complex than he’s used to, but he can figure them out. He’s also already noticed the wires and cables coming out of various points in his arms and body, and how strange his touch receptors feel from the neck down. “You’ve turned me into a cyborg.”

[CLASSIFIED] #2 purses his lips. “I wouldn’t use the term ‘cyborg’.”

“Augmented Peace Officer. Whatever. I’m effectively a cyborg.” Taeyong’s mind, much clearer now with time, was in overdrive. “How much of my body is left?”

“Your brain and head, neck, and your lungs. One of your legs too, but we decided it would be inconvenient to have one limb mechanical and not the other. All things considered.”

‘All things considered’. Taeyong has questions about that — but one thing at a time. “I don’t recall consenting to this.”

[CLASSIFIED] #2 looks a little stumped, Taeyong notes with satisfaction. But then his face steels. “We didn’t require your consent. You were dead.”

Oh.

Before he can say anything, do anything, think about it more, he’s on the sky-rail. He’s on his way home. Someone is sitting next to him, stiff and tall, and Taeyong has their hands linked together, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand. When he leans into his sweater, he smells coffee and spice. It’s a particular spice. Is it cinnamon?

“Taeyong.”

Taeyong lurches back into reality and the pain in his neck is back. “Why does my neck always hurt?” His voice is strained, begging to come out.

“It’s connected to metal, and the metal is heating up.” [CLASSIFIED] #2 is panicking — he’s holding Taeyong’s goddamn hand. “It appears you have some form of anxiety. I’m going to need you to breath very, very slowly.”

“Please don’t shut me down again.”

“Then breathe? Start by holding your breath as long as you can.”

Taeyong does as he’s told and finds that yes, he does, in fact, have lungs. He can feel them clench and struggle under the effort. When Taeyong finally lets go, he feels able to breathe a little normally again.

“Your heart rate seems lower,” [CLASSIFIED] #2 commented after giving Taeyong a few minutes to calm down. “The breathing actually seems to work.”

“I have a heart?”

“Your heart rate is clock signals from the CPU in your chest. You have a mechanical heart to pump liquids through your body, but your CPU does most of the work.”

“…Huh.” It’s a lot for Taeyong to take, but somehow the shock hasn’t fully set in. Either he’s treating it all as a dream or he really, truly has no problem with being a cyborg.

Strange.

“Would you like something to drink? It might cool you down.”

“Yeah, about that.” Taeyong licks his lips. “How do I actually eat or drink anything if I don’t have a digestive system?”

“You don’t.” [CLASSIFIED] #2 smirks, reminding Taeyong of all the faceless schoolyard bullies he’s dreamed about pointing out that he’s come to class in only his underwear. “We’ve been giving you electrolyte water because it’s helped keep your throat wet and gets rid of the toxins in the organic parts of your system. Your body is designed to completely break down your waste so you don’t actually need to excrete it.”

“You guys created a filtration and waste management system _within_ my body?”

“We did.”

“What about the water? It must be going somewhere.”

“Helps keep your body cool overall. Eventually evaporated and broken down, too.”

“I don’t think the science exists for that.”

“It does here.”

Taeyong doesn’t know whether he does it himself, but the interface brings up the diagram again, focusing on Taeyong’s torso. He did, in fact, have mechanical systems in place to direct electrolytes to the organic parts of his body, to break down glucose and redirect water across his body, almost as a cooling system.

“Is it just energy drinks?” he asked.

“It’s all you need. You don’t need it very often either — the main benefit is for your vocal chords, which our head engineer insisted on having be original.” [CLASSIFIED] #2 expression was blank, but Taeyong could tell he was rolling his eyes somewhere in his brain. “To humanise you.”

Taeyong narrowed his eyes but decided not to dwell — not yet. “If I don’t have to dispose of anything…” Taeyong directs his focus to his interface and zooms into his lower half, switching between various cross sections and the complete external view. Nothing is censored, he’s confronted with every inch of his body, and Taeyong doesn’t mind it because it’s _his_ body, he’s seen it all before.

Well. Not all of it. “Do I… do I have a penis?” he whispers.

A couple of the scientists chuckle and he immediately feels embarrassed. He was curious from a purely biological perspective, but as usual his mouth ran away without his brain and he said the worst thing possible.

(Taeyong realises with only a small amount of satisfaction that a lack of heart meant a lack of circulatory system, and he couldn’t blush anymore.)

“You don’t have… a penis,” [CLASSIFIED] #2 answers, a lilt of amusement in his voice. “We couldn’t salvage it from your corpse, and since you don’t have a digestive or reproductive system, we didn’t feel the need to make you one.”

“That… makes sense.” But he still feels sad. “I can’t reproduce?”

“It wasn’t a required function as an APO.”

“Augmented Peace Officer.”

“Yes.”

“I want to get back to that.” Because as exciting as the science is, he has some other questions about his existence. “You said you didn’t need consent from me, as a deceased person, to use my body. But you do need consent. From my family, who are hopefully still alive —”

“You seem to have no problem with the fact that you were dead.”

“Answer the question.”

An expression briefly crosses [CLASSIFIED] #2’s face. Taeyong recognises it as irritation. “We’re a government organisation, so we were able to use your body legally without consent.”

“You _still_ need —”

“A very specialised sector of the government’s defence department,” he interrupts quickly. “The kind that doesn’t need consent.”

Taeyong thinks that’s really dodgy, but the government was always up to something fishy. He could see it happening. He suddenly remembers all the anti-government protests he attended during college. They’ve all blended into one in his memories now — how long ago was college? — but the anger he felt then and now are the same.

“That doesn’t sound right,” Taeyong finally says.

[CLASSIFIED] #2 shrugs. “Will that be all the questions you have today?”

It isn’t all he has to say, but it seems [CLASSIFIED] #2 isn’t in the mood to answer his questions. So he’ll leave it for another day.

— 1 —

The sand beneath his feet is wet and packed together. Every now and then, the waves of the ocean lap at his feet, surging in and slowly dragging back out to the time of his CPU clock. He’s impressed by the breeze in his hair — he had hair! — and the very real smell of the sea gracing his senses. The simulation is fantastic.

[CLASSIFIED] #1 had asked him for a location that calms him when she was setting up the HARC, the Hyper-Augmented Reality Chamber. It’s like some kind of a Danger Room, except the damage Taeyong can make is apparently very great and very real and won’t just disappear like they do in comic books. It’s more like a glorified shooting range that can be set up to look like anywhere you want. Taeyong had chosen the beach by his hometown.

(He’s remembering a lot more now. His past is a much fuller picture than it was when he first came to.)

“Alright, Taeyong,” [CLASSIFIED] #1’s voice rings out from what appears to be the sun. Taeyong squints up at it. “I’m going to send you a close-range target to start with.”

A target rises up from the sand about ten feet away from him. It looks exactly like a human, except faceless, and no otherwise identifiable features. His UI struggles with not being able to make out a face for a few seconds before settling on [SIMULATION].

“Fight it.”

Taeyong looks up at the sky and then back down at the target, who appears to have pulled out a gun and was rushing towards him. Taeyong points his wrist at the man, ready to shoot with his wrist-pistol, when [CLASSIFIED] #1 calls out, “No weapons.”

Taeyong registers her words just as the simulation shoots at him and dodges just in time. The bullet nearly slices his ear and he can feel the heat.

“Those bullets are real, by the way.”

“Cool,” Taeyong whispers under his breath. “Wonderful.”

As he runs towards the target, he finds he can tell when the simulation is about to shoot when his UI points out its arm tensing and plots out possible bullet projectiles within nanoseconds. Taeyong is able to dodge pretty easily, even when at the last bullet the simulation suddenly changed its mind and shot towards his leg.

When Taeyong gets close enough, he grabs the gun (the very _real_ gun) from the simulation’s hand and yanks it out of his hand, crushing it to pieces. He blocks the two quick punches it throws at him, and the subsequent kick — he grabs him by the ankle and shoves him away. He doesn’t miss it pulling out a knife as Taeyong is busy with its leg so he quickly reaches out and knocks it out of his hand, letting it fall to the sand.

“Tase him.”

In a flash, Taeyong has two fingers on the simulation’s neck and feels the electricity surge from somewhere in his forearms to his fingers and spark violently till the simulation falls to the ground. He watches, waiting for it to disappear — as simulations tend to — but it never does.

“That’s a very realistic dummy,” he comments.

“He was a prototype of yours,” [CLASSIFIED] #1 responds. Taeyong tries not to think about the fact that a prototype of his would have had someone’s real body parts attached to that faceless figure. “Better get ready. Next test has two assailants.”

Taeyong can sense the simulations before he can see them, just from the sound of the sand shifting and the vibrations of the ground under his feet. They’re coming from almost opposite sides, his five o’ clock and his ten, both wielding knives. He runs for the one at ten o’clock, ducking a swipe towards his head and grabbing for the simulation’s arm. He turns around and yanks it over his shoulder, jerking the knife out of its hand. He swerves and pushes the simulation into five o’ clock, knowing he’s just run up to them, throwing them both on the ground.

And then nothing happens.

“Is that over?” Taeyong asks, looking up.

“The threat hasn’t been neutralised,” [CLASSIFIED] #1 replies. “They could still be conscious and get those knives nearby. Or another one.”

Neutralise. Taeyong can do that, he thinks, as he wills his forearms to convert into his arm cannons, the bright lime green lasers glowing just under the opening, ready to fire. The simulations relax into a limp position.

“Good. Quick thinking on the arm cannons.”

“It’s easier to pull out than the wrist pistol,” Taeyong murmurs, watching as the cannons morph back into his regular forearms. He never thought he would like any kind of proximity to weaponry, but now, having them literally built into him, he isn’t the least bit bothered. It does surprise him, how powerful he feels. The thrill he gets out of it. He’s felt stronger than he ever has his whole life.

“You ready for the next batch?”

“Ready as ever.”

“Alright. Here goes!”

Taeyong feels a much larger rumbling in the sand than he did before. It occurs to him that he’s about to be surrounded by dummies, and has very little options to fight them by hand.

That’s okay. He can handle them.

They don’t all pop up at once, thankfully, and Taeyong is able to wrap the cable that launched out of his thigh around the leg of one and swing around and into a few others. It doesn’t neutralise them, however, and he finds that he’s suddenly facing eight dummies, all carrying real weapons, who haven’t been neutralised the way Taeyong wanted them to be.

And then he remembers he can jump. Very, very high, high enough to go out of the circle and force them to come after him one at a time.

The carbon fibre attachments slide out of his calves and feet and give him a small platform in the air. He jumps for leverage and, on first bounce, launches himself up into the air. The simulations almost look surprised.

(He likes that, he realises. Their surprise. That feeling of having proven his superior physical prowess. It’s a little ridiculous, but he has time to think about it as he’s in the air.)

He lands successfully just a few feet away out of the circle. He moves back as they run towards him, tackling them in small numbers — a punch up the chin, an elbow into the ribs, a slap to the ears, a snatching of the gun and a butt to the head. He deals with them one or two at a time, disarming their weapons and knocking them out. He deals with them like breathing.

“Impressive,” [CLASSIFIED #1] says. Her voice is neither here nor there, but Taeyong thinks he can hear a smile in it. “I think you’re coming along quite nicely, Taeyong.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong responds. He’s not sure what he’s thankful for, exactly. The thrill, perhaps. The power. Things he should be alarmed by but are so far only raising niggling doubts.

“You’re very welcome,” [CLASSIFIED #1] tells him, and now he can definitely hear the smile in her voice.

There’s another voice. Male. Unfamiliar. Not one his system recognises as having heard before. “It’s quite polite, isn’t it?”

(This raises some red flags.)

“ _He_ is quite polite,” [CLASSIFIED #1] is heard responding before whatever mic from up in the heavens is turned off. Taeyong looks up at no point of the sky in particular. It’s hard to tell, while the HARC is up and running, where the viewing box is.

One of the clouds glitches. His eyes trail down to the horizon line and find the water pixelating into a multicoloured prism; the sand follows not long after.

Eventually, he’s surrounded by grey. Grey walls made up of triangular panels, surrounding him in a dome.

A pair of scientists — [CLASSIFIED #13] and [CLASSIFIED #22] — show up to pull the EEG monitoring machinery off of his head and limbs and walk him to the doorway.

“Who the hell am I going to use these arm cannons on anyway?” Taeyong asks them. “Are we at war?”

Neither answer. This is customary, but it doesn’t mean Taeyong will stop trying.

(He has may questions about what he’s doing here, but he has a feeling his questions won’t be handled with care.)

“Bring him to the tech station,” [CLASSIFIED #2] calls, appearing out of nowhere. “Record any damage to his weaponry and accessories.”

“On it,” [CLASSIFIED #13] says, veering Taeyong away.

“Hey, is there someone new here?” Taeyong yells out. “I thought I heard a voice I’ve never heard before.

[CLASSIFIED #2] frowns at him, and [CLASSIFIED #13] and [CLASSIFIED #22] veer faster.

(Something is strange. But Taeyong needs more time to confirm it.)

— 1 —

(Taeyong dreams for the first time, and it’s a memory he thought lost.)

There was chanting, and Taeyong thought they could have really come up with something more clever. Something like the placard he was holding himself — “CULTURE TECH UNI PUTS THE ’N’ IN CUTS” written in big bold red letters.

(Somewhere in reality, Taeyong smirks.)

It was about a scholarship. His university had just cut the one prominent full-fee scholarship they had for economically disadvantaged students, citing that the results those students received weren’t a “worthy investment” for the institution. Taeyong believed that poor students shouldn’t have to be exceptionally smart to have a chance at a further education, and so there he was. (He was a regular attendee of campus protests anyway. He couldn’t help that they always protested for things he was passionate about.)

It was meant to be a peaceful march down the main avenue on campus, into town and ending with a sit-in outside the Dean’s villa, but the riot police presence had increased as they began chanting, and soon he started to feel unsafe, even surrounded by people.

“Keep walking,” a voice muttered next to his head. “Don’t look at any of them.”

(A name floats to his mind: Yuta. Yuta, his roommate, his closest friend in college who he’d met on his first day and hadn’t let go of ever since. Yuta had been _on_ that scholarship.)

“They can sense your nervousness, Taeyong,” Yuta sighed again.

“That’s ridiculous. They can’t _sense_ anything, they’re not animals.”

“Technically they are?"

“Oh my god, shut up.”

(Taeyong’s dream seems to skim over quite a lot. He’s suddenly looking at the villa at the end of the court, the number of police suddenly having increased. It’s disconcerting.)

“None of us are armed, right?” Taeyong whispered to Yuta.

“We’re not supposed to be.”

“God, I hope people listened. Do you remember the bank protests last year?”

“I can’t believe you went to those!” Yuta shook his head, “It was organised by Jisoo, you know how much of a wildcard she can be. Wait.”

Yuta held him back by the arm and Taeyong looked forward to see that people not far in front of them had already begun to take their seats. The protest was bigger than he thought.

“Equal opportunity for all!” students continued chanting, “Equal opportunity for all!”

Taeyong joined in for a while, before leaning towards his friend and whispering, “Maybe they should change the slogan up a bit now? It’s getting tired.”

Yuta snickered.

(Taeyong remembers this is when things became less fun.)

“Your choice to sit-in on a public place has made this protest illegal,” someone announced through a megaphone somewhere Taeyong couldn’t see. “You have five minutes to vacate the premises. Anyone remaining will be arrested.”

“Five minutes?” Taeyong scoffed, “There are 300 of us here! It’s like they _want_ to arrest us.”

“Oh no,” Yuta snorted, “Really? Gee, I had _no_ idea that was the intention!”

“Shut up, Yuta.”

“Four minutes.”

Yuta shuffled closer so their shoulders were squished together. “When I say run, we run.”

“Now? Dude, I’m sitting this protest through.”

“No, when everyone else does.”

“Then why do I need you to tell me to run?”

“Fuck off.”

“Two minutes.”

Taeyong was getting nervous. He’d done this many times before and the few times he had to, he managed to avoid arrest, but the possibility of getting a criminal record was very real. He was torn between not leaving on moral grounds and getting the hell out of there before the police touched him.

“One minute.”

Taeyong could feel Yuta shiver beside him, so he reached for his hand. “You could lose your scholarship.”

“Nah. Not if I’m protesting college policy that concerns me. It’ll make them look bad.”

Taeyong grinned.

It happened so fast. The police moved in all at once and started to grab people on the edges of the crowd, and people in the middle rose in a panic. A squeeze of Yuta’s hand told Taeyong it was time to get going, and he let go of his friend in his rush to get out of there.

(Taeyong grimaces. Letting go of Yuta’s hand had clearly been a mistake.)

Taeyong got lost in the crowd. The police had started using capsicum spray on people resisting arrest and even just running away, and from the corner of his eye he could see someone get tased. This was much more violent than he was used to — he was not used to seeing this kind of force being used on a peaceful college protest. This was the biggest one he’d been to, but it was an internal college issue and he couldn’t find anything to justify the amount of force used.

Without looking, he ran straight into the arms of an armoured officer.

(The scene changes so quickly in Taeyong’s mind. He’s in a cell with five other people, one being Yuta. Taeyong recalls Yuta not bothering to lecture him on there being strength in numbers, and that’s when he knew something was wrong.)

He was beginning to think he’d spend the whole night in a jail cell before the gate clicked open and an officer read out his and Yuta’s names. They left the cell and walked down the corridor to find a man waiting for them in the station lobby. Unreasonably tall, bulky, resting bitch face which morphed into something more smug and just a little bit affectionate when he caught sight of them.

(Johnny. That’s the name that has escaped Taeyong’s brain for so long.)

Johnny didn’t need to say anything — the raised eyebrow and small smirk said it all. But he spoke anyway. “You’re welcome.”

“We didn’t need your help,” Yuta snapped, and Taeyong felt a migraine grow.

Johnny blinked, crossing his arms. “On the contrary,” he said, turning around to follow Yuta towards the station doors. “Sehun texted me as soon as he heard about the arrests. His payday isn’t for another three days, so you guys could’ve been stuck in there forever.”

“Taeyong’s parents could pay.”

“For Taeyong, maybe.”

“Whatever, Johnny.” Yuta turned around and gave the taller man a sharp look. “At least we were out there doing something instead of just throwing money around after the fact, as if that fixes everything."

Taeyong saw Johnny visibly tense, and rushed them outside as soon as possible. If there was one thing he’d noticed about Johnny in the past four years, it was that he was much more comfortable outdoors — especially when he was stressed, so he could put some distance between him and the object of conflict.

“C’mon, Taeyong, he doesn’t do anything!” Yuta continued yelling as they walked out the doors, Johnny tentatively following a few feet behind. “I’m so tired of him doing the bare minimum and thinking he’s done something. He talks big when he’s hanging out with us but he doesn’t do anything to back it up.”

“Yuta,” Taeyong warned.

“I could’ve not been here!” Yuta cried, gesturing wildly. He was growing louder and more emphatic and Taeyong was worried they’d be arrested again for being a public nuisance. “If it wasn’t for that scholarship, I would’ve been stuck in hospitality hell, or… or god knows what else, and if they get rid of it then other kids like me won’t _ever_ get the chance to get the qualifications they need—”

“Yuta, keep your voice down.”

“And that’s devastating, Johnny!” Yuta turned to Johnny, who had his arms crossed and eyes to the sky until he was addressed. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you? It’s all well and good for someone like you to have to rely on other people.”

“Yuta!” Taeyong snapped his fingers, drawing his friend’s attention. “Go home.”

Yuta looked at him, eyes wild, before his face relaxed. “Yeah.” He tilted his neck till it cracked. “Yeah, I’m going. I’ll see you there.”

It wasn’t until Yuta was safely out of earshot that Taeyong turned to his other friend. “You know he’s just mad, right?”

Johnny was looking at the sky again, and he looked startled when Taeyong spoke. “Oh. Yeah.”

“He doesn’t mean what he said. He appreciates you bailing us out, and he doesn’t hate you for not coming to the protests. He’ll probably apologise in the morning.”

“Maybe.” He licked his lips. “I want to do more, you know. I just really can’t deal with crowds.”

“We know, Johnny.” Taeyong smiled at him. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Johnny didn’t smile back, so Taeyong — on instinct, because that was how he comforted any of his friends — reached for Johnny’s arm. Johnny flinched and practically jumped a stride away. He never did like physical contact, but Taeyong was always confused by the lengths Johnny would go through to avoid being touched.

But then Johnny reached out and brushed a thumb against his cheek, as light as a feather — barely there, even. He had a warm (grateful?) smile on his face, and Taeyong couldn’t help but raise his hand to the point of contact, the blood rushing to his face. “Thanks, Yong.”

(That image, his voice, stays with him when he wakes up. He doesn’t have a heart, but he thinks he might as well do, after that.)

— 1 —

It’s time for target practice. Taeyong is practicing with targets outside, because his body is sturdy enough to withstand the dry desert heat. It was trial and error, but they worked out a way for Taeyong to be out in the sun without overheating.

Taeyong appreciates it. He does miss the sun.

“Let’s go with the wrist pistol this time,” [CLASSIFIED] #1 says in his ear. She’s sitting in a booth somewhere, indoors and air-conditioned. Once upon a time, Taeyong might have envied her, but he’s spent weeks in the facility in stuffy, sterile air. It’s nice to even feel the dust on his face.

“I hate the wrist pistol,” he moans, jutting his lip out. “It’s weird watching my hand just flip out of place.”

He hears the smile in [CLASSIFIED] #1’s voice. “I don’t doubt it, but we need you to be much faster at it. That takes practice. Let’s go — ten rounds.”

(Taeyong does question why, as a police officer-in-training, he has to go through so much target practice with live ammunition aiming at vital parts of the body. But as comfortable as he has grown with [CLASSIFIED] #1, he doesn’t think she would offer an honest answer to that yet.)

“Ready.”

Taeyong doesn’t receive countdowns anymore, so he waits for that barely audible click and whirr of the target train starting up before he snaps his wrist pistol out. He tries to look at the holographic dummy coming into view, moving right to left, instead of his wrist cracking apart like a coconut.

(It freaks him out, every single time. Out of all the things happening in his new body, this is easily one of the most unpleasant.)

He’s done this before. Aim, slide, shoot, repeat. Thighs, shoulders, head, heart. The pistol is semi-automatic but takes longer than many of Taeyong’s other weapons; more reason to hate it.

(When he’s not being tested and prodded and made to hurt things, Taeyong wonders how the hell he got so comfortable with being a semi-human death machine. Why he feels so happy hitting targets right on. It scares him more and more each day.)

The holographic dummies react in pain as he hits them, but Taeyong ignores that in favour of perfecting his aim, which was already perfect to begin with. Thighs, shoulders, head, heart. The dummies are too far to the left by the time he gets to the heart, and it frustrates him.

Aim, slide, shoot, repeat.

“That was much faster than last time,” [CLASSIFIED] #1 comments when he’s done. “Well done!”

Numbers appear on Taeyong’s UI, and Taeyong grimaces. He snaps his hand back into place. “Not fast enough, though.”

“You’re faster than any ordinary human being, that’s for sure. I’m sure with a little more training—”

[CLASSIFIED] #2’s faint voice interjects, “I hope you’re not forgetting our meeting, **_[][][][]_**.”

Taeyong winces as the censor buzzes through his body, painful static in his vision and hearing. Ever since he had discovered the name of [CLASSIFIED] #9 was Eugene Kim after [CLASSIFIED] #11 had let her slip on accident, he’d had a censor installed into his system that buzzed out all the names of the employees at the lab. As far as he’s aware, it only works on them — he can still say his name, his family’s names, without consequence.

(He misses his family.)

As the buzz wears off, he notices the ground rumbling under his feet, the sand swirling around. His UI works overtime, finally pulling up the exact model of helicopter that was about to fly overhead — KeyEast Rotocraft H140e. Lightweight. Electric. Designed only for a pilot and two passengers. All black and no logos or insignia.

“Taeyong? Did you hear me?” [CLASSIFIED] #1’s tinny voice chimes into his ear. She must have been speaking the entire time.

“Sorry,” he lies. “Helicopter must have drowned you out.

“Ah, yes. We have visitors from the defence department today. I hope that doesn’t make you nervous.”

Taeyong has had a few spectators at this point, one he even knows by face. Spectators don’t make him nervous.

What makes him nervous is that that Taeyong has put that helicopter through his database, and that definitely wasn’t government property.

“Should be fine. I hope they won’t judge my performance with the wrist pistols too harshly.”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 chuckled lightly. “We’ll make sure not to demo that one.”

(Something’s about to happen. Taeyong can feel it in his neck.)

Taeyong’s CPU is resting when he meets his guests. This only serves to make him drowsy, but he’s awake, and his audio receptors are still functioning well. Someone must know he’s eavesdropping, but he’ll deal with that later.

“Mr **_[][][]_** ,” Taeyong can hear [CLASSIFIED] #2 say. “Mr **_[][]_**. Thank you for joining us.”

Taeyong is pulled out of his drowsy state as the censors rip through his body. He throws his head back against his carbon fibre pod, fists clenching some of his wires tight.

He finds it odd that their names are censored, even though they aren’t employees.

“It’s awake,” a voice exclaims.

“It’s on standby. We’ll wake it up when it’s time.”

“I believe it’s a he?” another voice asks. This one very, very familiar — the lab’s most frequent visitor. “He has a name, as well? Taeyong?”

“Its name when it was alive. Our chief engineer likes to use pronouns to remind it that it’s human, but it is still a weapon.”

“No, I like the humanity thing,” the first voice muses. He sounds cheery, friendly, but Taeyong cannot trust him. “Makes him easier to sell. Emotions are very trendy, these days.”

“Makes us seem ethical,” Mr Frequent Flyer agrees. “We’ll call him Taeyong.”

“Taeyong is the best specimen you could find?”

“The most intact,” [CLASSIFIED] #2 replies. “The others have been used as prototypes.”

“He looks good. Young, athletic. Couldn’t anything be done about his hair?”

“It’s unable to grow follicles, I’m afraid.”

“Eh, no matter. We can always throw a wig on him. We need more models like this!”

“I will have our recruitment department look into it. Shall we wake it up?”

Taeyong can sense a technician reaching for his controls and turns his audio receptors off in a nanosecond, before anyone can notice anything. For a while, everything is dull.

Then his CPU starts beating, and he feels his body, his systems roar to life. He feels parts of himself slowly awaken and warm up, his UI flickering into view. The weapons in his body murmur and hum. He can feel his lungs at full capacity.

(It’s comforting now, this feeling. It’s a level above waking up well-rested.)

“Taeyong,” [CLASSIFIED] #2 greets him curtly. He has the same scowl on he always does, good old [CLASSIFIED] #2.

“Classified,” Taeyong nods back. He registered the two unknowns, which his UI also deems [CLASSIFIED]. “Classified and classified. Pleased to meet you.”

Guest #1 — who sports a thick pair of glasses — laughs, claps his hands together, like Taeyong was a dog doing a trick. “He has a sense of humour! How wonderful.”

“His hippocampus was unharmed and we decided to keep it. He retains his personality and all his memories.”

“I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“If I may, Mr **_[][][]_** —” Taeyong groans when the censor racks his body. “Oh dear. Taeyong, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Taeyong grits out.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“It’s a censor. Bleeps out terms we don’t want him to hear, but I’m afraid it affects his entire body too. We’re working on it.”

“Please work quicker,” Taeyong whines, earning a smattering of quiet snickers.

“It’s connected to every cloud in the ether, so it can find anything in any archive. We can’t have it searching up for names of our employees.”

“Is my name censored?” Guest #2 asks. He’s been quiet for most of this viewing. “I’m no longer an employee.”

“Of course.”

“Hm.” His eyes shift to meet Taeyong’s. There’s an unreadable look in his eyes. “My name is **_[][][][] [][]_**.”

Taeyong wrenches his hand free of the wires that connect him to his pod and clutches his head. He feels hazy; he’s never had this many censors go off in such a short time.

“Who am I?” the guest asks.

Taeyong shakes himself off and lifts himself upright. He glares at his frequent visitor, hard. “I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Taeyong can trace the movement of the man’s tongue around his mouth. “I like this function, but it needs to be more efficient. He was debilitated for too long.”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 spares Taeyong some worried glances. “As I said, we have a team working on improving it.”

“Good. It will definitely come in handy.”

[CLASSIFIED] #20 and [CLASSIFIED] #19 moved behind his pod, flicking some switches and clicks. Taeyong feels the base of the pod shifting below his feet, and balances with ease. Even without his heightened anticipatory senses, he’s done this enough times to manoeuvre it.

The glasses visitor stares at it curiously. “Why is he being wheeled? Can he not walk?”

“I can definitely walk,” Taeyong replies before [CLASSIFIED] #2 can. [CLASSIFIED] #2 casts him a sharp look.

“Security reasons. This one has a bit of an attitude, so we have cause for concern.”

“Our bodyguards will protect us! They’re incredibly fast.”

“Taeyong is faster.”

Taeyong thinks he can see the man’s eyes sparkle under his glasses. “Colour me excited, then.”

(This entire day has been one red flag after another.)

A week later, Taeyong is closer to the truth.

Eugene Kim, formerly [CLASSIFIED] #9, checks his vitals, and Taeyong is designed to pull up all data on anyone he comes across, so he does. Before his censor goes off, he manages to pull up that she works in SMCorp’s R&D division, and that she’s a computer scientist specialising in hardware.

“Taeyong!” she yelps, reaching for his arms as he curls in on himself.

“I’m okay.” He clenches his wrists, shakes her off. “Your real name triggered my censor.”

Eugene purses her lips and looks at [CLASSIFIED] #5. “There’s no way to delete that from his memory, is there?”

“Not unless you know a hypnotist?” [CLASSIFIED] #5 jokes back.

(Any other day, Taeyong would have delved into how cute it was that everyone joked around a little more when [CLASSIFIED] #2 wasn’t around, maybe even joked around with him, but now is not that time.)

“Why does it need to be deleted?” Taeyong asks. The entire lab turns to face him, and he monitors how fast his CPU is running, keeps it in check. “Am I not supposed to know you all work for SMCorp?”

He doesn’t know that for sure until he detects everyone’s face as visibly alarmed.

“Get **_[][][][]_** ,” [CLASSIFIED] #5 barks out at an assistant.

There are more censors, and Taeyong has his head in his hands, hearing but not really hearing anything, static coursing through his body like he’s been hit with a freight train. His brain fills in the blanks for what his systems can barely register is happening. Someone is getting either [CLASSIFIED] #1 or [CLASSIFIED] #2. He can feel Eugene’s hands trigger the touch receptors on his shoulders, and he lets them stay there.

“How are you feeling?” she asks gently.

“Fucking terrible,” Taeyong coughs. His head hurts.

“Would you like a drink?”

“I would like some answers.”

Her eye twitches every so slightly. “I don’t think I can give them to you.”

“I’ll ask anyway. I was never meant to be a police officer, was I? What are you planning to use me in?”

“It seems I’ve come right on time.” [CLASSIFIED] #1’s shoes — rubber, eva foam, protected toes — hit dully along the floor as she walks towards them. “Taeyong —”

“I already know I’m a weapon,” Taeyong interrupts. “I just want to know what kind of weapon I am.”

[CLASSIFIED] #1’s tongue runs over her teeth. A stop-and-think manoeuvre. “You’re multipurpose,” she says simply.

“And who was I made for?”

“The highest bidder.”

Taeyong’s neck feels hot. “This is an SMCorp lab. I’m an SMCorp project.”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 reaches for his neck and places two gentle fingers on his jugular. “You’re a top secret SMCorp project.”

She manages to calm him down, even if he’s mad at her. The air fills his lungs and he’s cooled down again. “How many of me are there?”

“You’re the only one of your kind. But we can make more.”

“…With what bodies?”

“Taeyong,” [CLASSIFIED] #1 chides gently, almost whispering now. “My clearance is not as high as you think it is. I’m answering your questions because I’m the only one who can get away with it, but you’re asking for too much.”

Taeyong’s UI focuses in on her eyes. She’s telling the truth. “Then who can I talk to?”

[CLASSIFIED] #1 retracted her hand. “I would stop trying.”

Taeyong bit his tongue as she turned around, addressing the other scientists. “I’ll file this report. Put him on standby and don’t answer any of his questions.”

Taeyong turns his audio receptors on right as he’s about to go into sleep mode. Someone will notice now, since he’s being watched. But he can pass it off as an accident.

(They’re being watched too. He’ll have a close eye on everything, from now on.)

— 1 —

Taeyong never wanted to be a RoboCop to start with, so he’s been planning to escape for a while.

The way that provides the least death and destruction is simple, and it goes like this:

One — Taeyong breaks out of his pod and gets out of the lab. It’s simple enough; he has “accidentally” broken out of them many times to know the optimal way to get out of it. The scientists in the room are unarmed, he’s checked, and they should be easy enough to threaten to get past.

Two — he heads left down the corridor, then another left and a right and until he gets to the man-sized vent opening. He would have to deal with whatever security would inevitably catch up to him on the way, since the main security room wasn’t far from there, but he can probably disarm them long enough to make his getaway. The vents may be a problem for his body temperature, but the entire thing is bound to make him overheat anyway.

Three — he disables the security system within the vents and climbs through the vents, right, left, right, right and down into the vehicle bay. He’ll will have to move fast, because the central controls could reenact the security system centrally. He may get stuck there.

Four — he jacks a hovercar and flies it as far as he can.

His plan B is also simple. It’s more likely to work, but is also ill-advised:

One — blow shit up and run the fuck away from here.

(Nothing is simple. Nothing will ever be that simple, Taeyong. Being a computer doesn’t mean you’re always going to make the right decisions.)

Taeyong’s been in that facility three months when he finally breaks free. His UI detects the most vital scientists as distracted, and he yanks the most restricting connections off himself in a flash. Before anyone can notice what’s happening, he has the entire pod in his arms and is flipping it forward to the floor. It crashes on marble tile with a crunch, and its neon green lights slowly blink out.

“What the—”

Taeyong’s arm cannons and shoulder lasers are out and pointing in all directions as he lets his UI scan the room. It only takes a beat before he’s running, disintegrating the pliers thrown at him, sliding under the monitor heading his way. He’s out the door, fleeing left. It’s empty. He’s running at double speed and his body’s heating up. He takes another left and _laser bullet_ —

Hi dodges it, looks around, sees nothing. His UI detects a hostile in the vent, armed.

(There goes his Plan A!)

He dodges another bullet and launches his thigh wire at the vent’s grilling. His jump legs are out as he yanks it open, and jumps towards the figure, taser ready. As he’s shocking them, he notices a watch on their wrist, a diagram on its screen.

They’re tracking his location.

Detour. Taeyong takes a right instead of a left to where he knows the mains are. If he cuts off supply, it’ll cover him once he’s out of the base.

Or maybe he should find a security console and turn his location off for real.

He considers going back towards the vents, where he knows there’s a console, but his UI detects one nearby. He heads towards it to find it on the other side of a door, next to a waiting figure, blaster ready. He readies an arm cannon, and reaches for the entry console, shocking the entire thing open. He shoots first towards the laser bullet aimed at him, then down near the figure’s feet. The figure jumps, higher than the average human should. Taeyong is almost shot in the head before he knocks the blaster out of his hands.

Parry, knee in the stomach, uppercut to the jaw. Taeyong manoeuvres him into a headlock, but doesn’t have much room to do anything else, so he sends a light electric shock through his entire body and onto his assailant’s.

Taeyong stumbles away as the body falls to the ground, feeling dizzy, UI temporarily down, the rest of his body struggling. The full body shocks were a last resort for a reason.

He drags the body over and uses its palm to log into the console, praying it has clearance. The fact that his UI hasn’t brought him a single piece of data about the two assailants he’s come across so far hasn’t escaped him, so he’s assuming they’re just as top secret as he is. They can’t be entirely human, but they felt it — flesh and bones, completely. Not half-in-half, like Taeyong.

The palm works, and Taeyong is surprised at the amount of clearance this guy has. SWC-0210 can’t be a real name.

(Again, his UI pulls up nothing.)

Taeyong manually scrolls through the system for a few seconds until his UI boots back up and points out exactly how to get to where he needs to. He finds a list of settings — location tracking, remote manual control, and ‘KILL SWITCH’.

He leaves that one alone and flicks everything else off.

He runs back outside to the mains and blasts it with his arm cannon, and everything around him — the lights, the temperature control, the buzz of machinery — shuts down. The only machine he can hear is himself.

He runs in the general direction of the vehicle bay. Most of the facility is a mystery to him, and the corridors are a maze, but his UI is smart enough to fill in the blanks his memory could never and he navigates precariously. Every once in a while he bumps into someone in a vent, or around a corner, and he deals with them. At one point it’s a group of security guards — all human — and Taeyong tries not to think too hard when he has to break one of their arms to get away.

(He hasn’t run into any of the head scientists so far. Strange.)

It’s when he’s almost there that he’s ambushed.

Some of the assailants he’d neutralised are back; Taeyong seriously underestimated how long they would stay unconscious. They block the door to the bay and the nearby hallway. He detects more coming up behind him, and he wonders how many of these strange humans are there.

He has to deal with them systematically. No thoughts; head empty.

He moves towards the hallway and jumps up against the opposite wall, flipping right over his attackers. Everyone had to come through that hallway opening to get to him. He was no longer surrounded.

Thug 1 tries to grab for Taeyong’s head as he lands but has nothing to grab on to. Taeyong takes their outstretched hand and tases them, pushing them down in front of the approaching Thug 2.

Thug 2 trips over Thug 1. As they try to get up, Taeyong knees them in the mandible. They’re out cold.

Taeyong’s shoulder lasers fire quick darts at Thugs 3 and 4. They hit them on the hands and the neck, and they flinch just long enough that he can knock their heads together. He tases them for good measure.

He feels Thug 5 running behind him, so he throws Thug 3 at him. Thug 5 manages to knock him away, and Taeyong has to fight him by hand. He can feel Thugs 6 and 7 closing in, surrounding him. He ducks as they lunge and crash into each other, then tases them from below.

(He tased Thug 6’s crotch by accident. He’ll find some rubbing alcohol for his fingers as soon as he is able.)

All three fall right on top of him, and Taeyong pushes them off to head for the bay. He reaches for the gun he knows is waiting around the corner — Thug 8, hoping to catch him off guard.

Someone should have told them that wasn’t easy to do.

Taeyong wonders, as he uses Thug 8’s hand to let him into the vehicle bay, if this is it. He’s only come across a handful of actual security; most of his encounters have been with these masked attackers that he’s never seen before.

(It’s too easy.)

But as he gets into the closest hovercar and pulls its back panel open, no one is here. He can hear some commotion on the other side of the facility, but he has no time to investigate. He has to get out. He sparks the induction motor to life and hijacks his way in. He leans out the window, turns his arm cannons on full blast and blows a whole through the garage door, and then he’s driving. He hits the accelerator and doesn’t let go.

(His CPU is working over time but the wind feels cool on his neck and face and scalp and the touch receptors all over his body, and he feels good.)

(He feels alive.)

— 1 —

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a scientist (:
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/singledadjohnny)  
> [questions](https://curiouscat.me/singledadjohnny)


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